Losing is not final
by Voleste
Summary: Two hunters, who look quite alike, yet are extremely different and have only worked with each other for about a month, decide to tackle another case, in Germany. It might just be a routine job. It might not. A supernatural au; mention of character deaths, but not graphical. Crosspost from AO3.
1. Chapter I

There was a buzzing noise in the back of his head, and something sharp rested against his cheek. He became vaguely aware of his surroundings and opened his eyes, trying to massage his stiff neck in the too small and cramped car. Although still heavy from sleep, his eyes didn't take long to register where they were. Immediately he frowned at the man left from him, who patted his knee. "Finally awake?"

He groaned and sat upright, looking at the little digital clock on the dashboard. Four hours had passed. Only four. He needed a proper rest. "What are we doing in Germany? I thought we were going home."

The blonde smiled at him - a smile too cheerful - and turned the radio down to a soft background whisper. "I got called by Alfred for a potential job south - "

"What? This is not his area. This isn't even his freaking continent... go on."

"And I told him we'd check what was going on."

He groaned and shifted in his seat, noting the other was driving too fast. Now, that was going to be ironic, if they got killed in a car accident. After all, they had faced much, much worse. The man next to him was a few years older than him, but he certainly didn't act like it. And while they resembled each other in looks, they were completely different. Sometimes he thought the only thing they really had in common was their job. Which wasn't entirely true, but Laurids could definitely get on his nerves. And right now he didn't have a lot of patience and tolerance to begin with. "I got stabbed in the shoulder last night with a poisoned blade and you're a terrible medic. I'm not going to work a case."

The blonde shrugged and tapped on the steer with a small smile, then making a sudden turn to the right to leave the highway. "We're just going to investigate. See what the rumours are about. That's all."

He sunk a little back in his seat, wincing as his shoulder protested. There was no use arguing about it. They both could be stubborn, but he was not the one driving. "I'm going back to sleep," he murmured and he closed his eyes.

Another few hours later he got poked in the ribs. "Wake up, Willem." He just sighed and looked out of the window. He had no idea where they were, but the area looked slightly familiar. A small city, from the looks of it. He got out of the car - his partner had already grabbed two backpacks and slung them over his shoulder and closed the door.

Inside, they saw a young woman at the reception, who was flipping through a magazine and didn't notice them come in. "Good afternoon, miss," Laurids said, smiling as ever. She glanced at the both of them and handled their reservation in a monotone voice. "Brothers... two separate beds... each a card key? Yes, okay... third floor, left hall. If you're not blind or mentally challenged you'll be able to find your room." With that, she sent them off. Willem left his partner behind, leaving him to deal with the luggage. After all, he had an excuse. He quickly claimed a bed once they found their hotel room and kicked off his shoes.

Laurids came in a minute later and proceeded to 'unpack' in his own special way; he simply held the backpack upside down, clothes and noteblocks falling on the bed -

"Watch it, my laptop's in there," Willem complained. Maybe he shouldn't have put his laptop in Laurids' backpack, but his own had been full with the books they had 'borrowed' when they broke into a private library a few weeks ago. He then gestured vaguely in his direction, while massaging his shoulder carefully. "Alright. Tell me about the details."

The man plopped down on the other bed, right in the middle of the mess and fished a teared piece of paper out of a noteblock.

"Since a day or ten, people have started to get nightmares. They have complained about heavy feelings. Two of these people have been been found dead. Official death cause; suffocation. They simply forgot to breathe." He frowned at the man in front of him, who was already lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was listening, still.

"And the profile? Of the dead ones?"

"Eh...both women. And the interesting part is that they both gave birth less than a year ago."

Willem sighed and got up, slowly. He had to admit he was intrigued by the story. It could be a coincidence - sometimes, how unlikely it may be, a death was natural - but it sounded fishy. He looked at the older man, who was rummaging through their belongings. It was strange how they looked alike; and it was even stranger how they ended up being partners. They weren't related and it was only a coincidence they met. Because of his little brother. He barely knew anything about this guy; they only learnt about each other's existence a few months ago. And this was just their fifth week working together.

"Hey," he called out. "What were you doing, before... all this. Because this isn't exactly the future dream job you would've picked as a child, would you?"

For a moment, he thought he saw Laurids' smile falter. Had that been too personal? But they were literally putting their lives in each others hands. He had a right to know. In a way, he felt close to the other man, but in another he knew nothing about him. He was Danish and he was just past thirty six. He was intelligent, but reckless. Optimistic, too. But that's all he knew. Such was a strange relationship of hunters who decided to team up, because they couldn't do it on their own.

He thought Laurids wasn't going to talk; he was uncharacteristically silent. But then he spoke up. "My father was part of the navy and we often went out sailing. I just thought of it as a fun activity. Turns out my mother was a hunter herself and they didn't want to put me in danger. Of course...the inevitable thing happened. We came home. No mom. I was fifteen. I still don't know how they kept it a secret for so long...we never found her, but there was a note." He shook his head and reached for a slightly damaged pack, shook out a few cigarettes and tossed one to the other bed. It fell on the ground, but neither picked it up.

"My father had no choice but to fill me in. That's how I came to know Alfred, and then I got to know your brother. Which led me to you. He made me get my high school degree," he continued with a small chuckle. His eyes lit up, too, Willem noted. "I even studied for a short while...but I've always been adventurous." He lit his cigarette and took a drag. "I guess I'm continuing the legacy. You, on the other hand - I heard you were charged with murder."

Willem made it himself slightly more comfortable on the bed. "Yeah."

"What happened? You never ask questions and suddenly you want to know all about me. It's only fair you give me the same treatment," the Dane protested.

"I just finished my study and I had a part time job as a bartender. I was sharing an apartment with my siblings because the rent is ridiculous... and I found her dead. Police and judge found me guilty and charged me for twelve years with a bunch of therapies too. I fled, with the help from Michèl. Turns out he was in this sort of business for years. That's all."

"Oh. Is that why you don't want to work cases in the Netherlands?"

"Yep."

"Do your parents think you murdered your sister?"

A sigh. "Yep."

"Is that why you never do anything about your hair despite complaining all the time how it gets in front of your eyes so you can't see anything?"

He sent him a glare. "You may not have noticed it, but I have quite a large scar on my forehead. Makes me recognisable."

"Oh."

After a short, uneasy silence, he could see Laurids growing restless, but he didn't say anything. He was tired, and the drug they used to get the poison out of his blood, made him drowsy. Surely this town could wait until tomorrow. He heard the bed creak next to him and knew the Dane had gotten up. "I'm going to get us dinner... and something for that shoulder of yours."

"Is fine," he muttered back, already closing his eyes. This work sucked sometimes. But it was the only kind of job he could do.


	2. Chapter II

_- a note; the first three chapters were already written. After uploading all of these the upload speed will obviously slow down. :3_

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><p>Neither of them ate much that evening and went to bed early; it had been a while since they both got a good amount of sleep, especially after the incident where they got chased by the police by breaking into someone's garage to get some supplies. They had changed cars and identities twice after that, and only recently it seemed to calm down.<p>

The following morning his partner was already up; from Willem's point of view he seemed to be engrossed in what looked like a promotional magazine. He slowly got up, silently grabbed a clean set of clothing and made his way to the bathroom.

"Morning," he muttered. The Dane didn't seem to notice, but then he looked up and gestured, telling him to come closer.

"I went to the lobby. Apparently there's this guy who offers yoga therapy. For people who can't sleep." He looked up at Willem, with a twinkle in his eyes and handed him the folder. Then he noticed the bundle of clothes in his arms and made a disapproving noise. "That won't do. We're going to visit the mortuarium today. Get a good look at the bodies."

"How do we get - "

"Inside?" Laurids finished the question. He started to laugh. "God, they gave me a rookie. I'm surprised you made it this far without getting killed. Weren't you forging passes and everything before your little bro sent you out in the field?"

He nodded, mad at himself for not thinking of such a simple solution. All they had done so far was breaking inside abandoned buildings, returning malevolent spirits to their eternal resting place. There was never much of a mystery or a puzzle to solve. He realised this was his first 'real' case and he just made a fool of himself in front of the veteran. He said nothing, but instead grabbed the plastic bag the blonde was pointing at and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he was done, the other was already waiting for him and they descended the stairs together, Laurids putting up a hand in the air joyfully towards the desk, where the – rather rude – woman from yesterday sat, reading, boredly flipping through the same magazine. His greet was ignored.

It wasn't a long ride to the mortuarium. As usual, the Dane chatted his ears off, while he kept fidgeting with one of his sleeves. It was clear that it had been custom made, and his brother made some pretty accurate guesses, but the sleeves were just slightly too short. It wasn't short enough to be noticable from a distance, but it was definitely short enough to bother him. "Are you even listening?"

He shook his head. "I was not. Unlike some people I do grow bored of the same stories you tell every day."

A sigh could be heard as they turned right, leaving the main road. "I wasn't telling a mere story. Just saying that you should shut up once we're there and let me talk. I've done it before."

Willem hadn't been planning to take the lead at all – pretending and posing as someone else wasn't something he was very good at. So when he finally wrote his profile – a whole list, that consisted from the basics to deep self analysis about strengths, weaknesses, opportunities and traps – no veteran wanted him as a partner. Not only was he inexperienced, he also was being chased by the police. A fugitive. An innocent fugitive maybe, but it was more than most hunters wanted to burn their hands on. Except the cheerful, Danish guy, who had always worked alone and loved to take a 'trainee' - as he called it - under his wing.

His brother, Michèl, he learnt, was one of the key figures in a large group of organised hunters, all over the world. Many independent hunters scoffed at the idea of them being organised, but so far it turned out to be pretty successful, especially when it came to keeping the death count to a minimum and keeping their own people out of jail. Although they had their good intentions, what they did was not exactly approved of by law and many people's standards. They had started off small; a base in Asia – rumours whispered it was in the middle of Hong Kong – who organised their people in such an effective way that they could solve more cases than first was possible. Then Michèl contacted them, built a similar organisation, and so further. Although they didn't have a lot of hunters connected to this group – maybe only five percent – they still could do their jobs more easily. They had also attracted other people to work for them, such as artists without a job, scientists, experts on certain fields who could be contacted if necessary...

Willem had been one of those artists who learnt the craft of forging badges and passes when his brother arranged him a hiding place, in the head quarters of Europe's group. It was located in Luxembourg and his own brother happened to be in charge. It was then when he learnt about the second world of Michèl. An architect on the outside, but in reality, this was what he really enjoyed doing.

"We're here," Laurids said and clacked with his tongue, probably to ensure he was paying attention. With a small sigh he got out of the car, tugging at his sleeve once more, then gave up and followed the man, who decided to go ahead. With a little jog he caught up with the Dane and fell in with his step. "So who's receiving us?"

"I've been told to ask for a John Dufort," Laurids answered, handing him a card.

"Dufort sounds French."

"That it does," the other agreed. Before they could enter, a young man, in probably his mid twenties came out of the building, looking expectantly at the both of them. He was quite a lot smaller than the two of them, even though he wasn't that short to begin with. "Good morning. The agents who wanted to see the bodies? May I see your ID? My apologies for receiving you like this," he then added, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "We've got a new policy. No one unauthorised can enter the building, not even the hall. There are some security issues."

Willem thought the man looked and sounded familiar, but he kept silent. Instead he gave his badge; the stranger studied it. "Everything seems to be in order, agent Holland." The man sounded amused. For a moment his eyes widened, looking up, dumbfounded. _What?_ He had to bite on his cheek to keep a straight face and forced himself to nod. "I'm glad," he managed and took the badge back. Whose terribly stupid idea was it to give him Holland as a surname? He had his suspicions; Laurids and Michèl were both high on the list. He refrained himself from sending a glare to the older hunter and instead put the badge away and waited.

"My name's John Dufort and I'll be your guide. This way, please." They followed the man in silence, avoiding the main entrance all together. Instead they used a side door. Then a corridor, left, another corridor, second door on the left... it was a maze, Willem realised. And they probably wouldn't want people wandering around in this place. He froze when a cold voice adressed them, but John Dufort reassured his colleague. "They're with me. It's alright."

Then, another door, and another. "I'm afraid I can't keep you alone," John said, "but I'll be in the back. If you have any questions please do ask. I'll be happy to help. Please do not touch the victims without my permission." With that, he retreated to the corner and took a seat, pulling out a notebook.

After a few minutes of watching Laurids examining the bodies and trying to understand what he should look for – anatomy and death causes wasn't exactly something he had studied back in the days – he glanced at the man in the corner, busy with his notes. Although... he wasn't reading anthing. "I don't trust that guy," he said, whispering, while Laurids' nose was almost touching the cold woman's face. "He's keeping an eye on us."

"False," Laurids whispered back. Then, in a slightly louder tone; "take note of these markings. You can see them better from the other side." As Willem moved, the man in the back shifted slightly to have a better view on what he was doing. "See? He's just keeping an eye on you."

"Yes, real reassuring," Willem hissed. "I'm the one they're searching for. Besides, I have a feeling I know him." The man in the corner coughed and he stiffened, but nothing happened. He clenched his teeth a little; he really should learn how to keep up the façade and keep his cool. It was hard, especially when you thought about how he had been into hiding for almost five years, and he had no idea if the police was still searching for him. But he didn't want to take any chances. And if they got caught with false identities, surely they would dig into their history and they'd eventually find out he was charged and found guilty of murder.

"I think we're done here," Laurids called. The man in the corner approached them, smiling ever so slightly. "Good. I hope you found what you've been looking for, agent Petersen, agent Holland. I'll show you out." He carefully placed the blank sheets back over the victims, then took the lead again. Within ten minutes minutes they were outside. While Willem looked around – he liked to memorise everything – the other two exchanged phone numbers. "Don't hesistate to give a call if you have any questions, agents," John said with a small nod. "Have a good day."

However, before Willem could turn around, John tapped him lightly on the shoulder, catching his attention. He could swear his smile got a little wider. "By the way, agent _Holland_. Michèl says hi." With that he let him go and disappeared back into the building.


	3. Chapter III

"You seem anxious," the older male commented when they were on the road again, trying to find a small little restaurant, as they both skipped breakfast. He had had to remind Willem twice about fastening his seatbelt. And although Willem had heard him both times, it didn't really register.

"Oh, really? That guy knows me. And my brother. I'm in trouble," he said, staring at his phone and going through the list of contacts. No Dufort anywhere – although that could be a false name, for all he knew. Laurids probably didn't use his real name either. The man once explained he wanted to be as untracable as possible and Willem could see him lying to everyone about everything, including to his fellow partner. And it wasn't as if they had known each other for very long.

"Calm down. You said he looked familiar. I bet he's actually part of the crew." They stopped in front of a restaurant. Willem let the topic drop for now, but that didn't mean he didn't think about it. Where did he know him from? A bit of a soft rounded face, and hair on shoulder length. But it had been in a ponytail... he couldn't recall anyone who looked like that he knew from a previous life. Then he scoffed at himself. He was being dramatic. Or delusional.

After they both got seated and rewarded themselves with a big mug of coffee and a sandwich, he reached over for a newspaper from another table, glancing at the front page. "No new victims, it seems," Willem said, turning the newspaper around for Laurids to see. "And the police keeps both of the husbands in custody."

"Let me see that." Willem pointed towards the paragraph he'd skimmed over. "The police knows as much as us," the Danish man sighed when he was done reading. "There was something interesting about the bodies, though. The death cause was suffocation, but I saw some marks around the fingers and hands. And... both left breasts had marks too, as if someone forcefully grabbed – "

"Maybe it's an idea we don't discuss these kind of things in public?" Willem glared over his coffee. "Someone could overhear us." Even though they were speaking English in Germany, and the restaurant was fairly empty and they had found themselves a nice spot, against the wall, in the corner, he still didn't like the idea of other customers listening in on their conversation.

Laurids just shrugged in response. "I'd like to pay those two men a visit. See what they can tell us. Probably not much, but we can at least rule out if they're innocent or not. You can stay back at the hotel if you want. The excitement clearly is a little too much for you."

"Could you shut up?"

Nevertheless, when they had finished their lunch and stopped mid travel by the grocery store for some much needed food and cigarettes, he stayed at the hotel, per Laurids' advice. He wanted to clear his thoughts on both the case and John Dufort. The Dane had placed the small business card of the man on the table, and he had been eyeing it for a good ten minutes. With a small sigh he put the book he'd been reading through away, and reached over to pick up the card.

Then he called the number.

"Hello?" he heard the same, familiar but not quite placable voice through the phone.

"Who are you?" he half demanded, knowing fully well it wasn't really that much of a threat. In his profession, lying was considered easy, especially over the phone. A chuckle could be heard.

"Agent Holland, if I'm not mistaken. Such a pleasure to hear from you."

That answer didn't satisfy him at all, although Willem hadn't expected the other to be honest either. "How do you know Michèl?" A question he should probably ask with caution. However, there was something bugging him about Dufort since he met the man.

Another small laugh. "I promise you I mean no harm. I've been sent by him and have a message for you, but I can't do this over the phone. Where are you at the moment?"

Despite better judgement, Willem gave him the address and room number of the hotel. It had been a while since he heard anything from his family. There was still something strange about the fact how they ran into exactly the right person that morning. It had been a staged meeting. It had to be. Hoping the Dane wouldn't come back for another few hours, they had agreed John Dufort would stop by in an hour. It gave Willem time to focus on the actual case and drew a timeline, along with some notes he'd written this morning. They could be dealing with a regular, human killer, but the similarities with the two victims were oddly specific.

Some time later, his whole bed was scattered with his timeline, several books open at several pages and his laptop on the desk, and nowhere closer to cracking the case. He had no idea what they were dealing with. Willem had never been never cut out to do 'investigations' and figuring out puzzles and mysteries. In books, maybe, but it didn't have to become reality. If it were to him, he would abandon this kind of life. If only.

A knock on the door made him jump. He removed his shoes, walked as softly as possible towards the door and looked through the fisheye lens. Broken. Great.

He cautiously opened the door, getting a good look at the man in front of him. It was still the same man, although his white coat was replaced by a regular, dark blue short jacket. His blonde hair was freed from the ponytail and on top of it all, he suddenly wore glasses. It took Willem a few moments to realise who stood in front of him. Then he pulled him inside, closed the door behind him and didn't know whether to hug the man or give him a slap across the face.

"Matthew, you fucker," he growled at the blonde, who was not at all impressed.

"It's good to see you too. It's been a few years, isn't it? Willem," he added with a soft smile. "I'm sorry to hear about your sister. I was fond of her." Then he glanced around the room, and noted the mess on one of the beds. "Doing research? Don't worry – I know. There's a good reason why we got out of touch."

Willem wasn't entirely sure what to say. He hadn't seen the man for seven years; they both had been studying at the same university – Matthew had been a gifted person and was doing both high school and a university degree at the same time. He'd helped the young guy a little; but after two years, Matthew suddenly disappeared. Although they sparingly had contacted each other via email, that ceased to be as soon as the incident had happened.

And now, the awkward fifteen year old teen, as he first met him, had grown into a man of twenty four. He hadn't seen him since he was seventeen, and although he could see it was still Matthew, he could now live with the fact he hadn't immediately recognised his old friend.

"Are you going to explain?" Willem finally asked, when they both looked at each other in a quite uncomfortable silence.

"Explain?" Matthew echoed, while finding himself a seat on the still empty bed.

"How you found us, for one. How you managed to pose as a staff member at the very mortuarium we were going to visit and where the hell you went where you disappeared," he answered curtly. Old friend or not, he still didn't trust him entirely.

"I guess I could tell you that... it was your brother. I didn't just do the gifted program because I was, well, gifted. I got some psychic talents and quit my study to develop them." He picked up one of the grocery bags next to the bed, rummaged in it and found something to his sastisfaction. An apple. Willem watched him taking a bite. What was he talking about? Psychic powers? He was fucking with him, again.

"It's true," Matthew defended himself when he saw the man's look. "It's a form of hypnosis. I can plant false memories in people's minds. I also have a knack for making people tell the truth." Willem did not like the implications of that. What had happened to the friend he knew?"As for me finding you... Michèl has trackers everywhere. And you being his fugitive brother, he wants to know what you're up to."

"I'm not a child."

"No one claimed such a thing."

They both fell silent again, but Matthew didn't seem to be bothered by it. Instead he looked at the books with interest, and continued to eat his apple.

"I'm not entirely sure if I believe you," Willem began. The other shrugged in response. "What you want to believe in is up to you. I'm just saying... you're dealing with ghosts and spirits and all that sorts of stuff. The idea of psychic talents is not that farfetched."

Behind them, the door to their hotel room got opened, but neither of them noticed it. Within a few seconds Matthew had a gun pointing to his head. The Dutchman looked up, startled at the sudden appearance of his partner, but he seemed to be the only one in the room who was surprised. Matthew didn't even bother to fully turn around.

"They told me you were paranoid."

If that was supposed to reassure Laurids, the magic didn't happen. The man came closer, not once looking away from the intruder on the bed, who didn't seem impressed. Instead, he shrugged a little. "Want me to put up my hands?"

Laurids moved around the bed so he could face the man properly. It was strange to see him like this; even on the job, he could crack a smile or come up with one of his terrible puns in the middle of something serious. But right now, he looked tense, and yet, oddly calm, as if he had dealt with these kind of situations before.

"You're no John Dufort."

"Indeed I'm not," Matthew admitted. "A man is entitled to have his secrets. I'm sure you agree. I did some research. Laurids Jørgensen. Interesting name. Did you know there are only sixteen people in Denmark with that name who are currently alive? And you don't fit any description. Removed yourself from the database, eh? Clever trick."

If Laurids was bothered with the fact that the stranger knew things he wasn't supposed to know, he didn't show it. He let go of the gun with one hand, placing the free hand on Matthews shoulder, ungently. "Spill it. Why are you here?"

"Is this a threat? We both know you won't shoot that gun in a hotel where everyone can hear you."

Willem looked from one to another. He would've stopped the Danish man, but any sudden movement was too much for his injured shoulder, and he knew that. "Knock it off. I know him. He's a good guy."

Laurids narrowed his eyes at him and stared for a few seconds, judging his words. Then he lowered the gun and stuck it back in the inner pocket of his jacket. Within reach. Matthew sighed a little. "I had it under control, Wim." Then, towards Laurids: "Matthew Williams. We work for the same organisation. It's such a pleasure to meet you." The subtle undertone of sarcasm was lost to no one.

He turned his attention back to Willem, while Laurids took a seat in the empty chair near the window, silent and watching them both. "Your message. As you know, it's been five years since well, you broke out of custody. And the search was dying out, however... they reopened the case. With a new team. It's important that you don't go anywhere near the border – "

Willem groaned.

" – as the police in the Netherlands has been given order to arrest you on sight," Matthew continued. "Your brother is pretty sure the police in Belgium and Germany near the border have been informed about you as well. Since they know you two are related, he couldn't deliver you this message himself."

He closed his eyes for a bit, trying to take in the news. Not only did that night rob him from his sister... they took his parents too, and now his only remaining sibling as well. He had never been an overly social person, but that didn't mean he didn't love his family. His parents thought he was a danger to society and should be locked up in jail and didn't know their youngest child still had contact with him. And now that had been taken away as well. His mind wandered off to Laurids, who had broken all contact with his family on purpose, to protect both them and himself. But they parted in a good way. At least his family didn't believe he had murdered his own blood.

He got up, glancing at the two blonds before slowly making his way to the door. "I need a moment," he announced. However, before he could leave, Matthew approached him and embraced him in a hug. He didn't argue. Sometimes it was better not to; the Canadian could be stubborn about things like that. "I'm sorry," he simply said. "All of your plans went to shit. I wish our meeting, after those seven years, could've been a happier one."

Willem didn't say anything in response, and after a few moments his friend let go of him. "I need some fresh air." He slipped through the door and somehow got downstairs, his mind being on autopilot. It was completely empty in the lobby. Fitting, he thought bitterly. Sometimes it was okay to feel sorry for yourself, and he believed this was one of those times. His phone buzzed in his pocket, wanting his attention, but he ignored it. Whoever it was, it could wait. He stepped outside and lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply.

That was slightly better. However, no amount of cigarettes could make up for the gnawing feeling inside of him. This wasn't a good day, and he couldn't help but think it was the start of something, far, far worse.

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><p><em>According to the Danish name database, as of 2014, there are 15 Danish people with the name Laurids Jørgensen. The story itself is set in 2017.<em>


	4. Chapter IV

Although he had never been in the capital city before, the university had been easy to find. In the one time he got slightly lost and confused, several passerby's immediately knew what he was talking about and sent him in the right direction. He knew no one, but that had never been an issue for the blonde, bright-eyed, generally cheerful young Dane, who just received his driver's license two weeks ago.

He had found himself a nice apartment on a fifteen minute walk from the university – a little too big and expensive for his liking – and put up an advert, asking for a roommate. The idea of splitting the rent and having some nice company in the evening sounded perfect in his ears. However, not many had responded to the advert. Only two people, in fact; a girl, older than him, who had looked through the entire apartment in less than five minutes and let him know that she was going to contine her search. And a guy, who had called his number in accented Danish and asked if it was alright if he didn't speak fluently Danish and if they could continue the conversation in English instead. He had gotten intrigued, and they agreed to meet up after the first introduction day.

So, not long after he got back – he had just made some instant coffee, not having had the time to buy a proper coffee maker yet – the doorbell rang. With his mug in his hand, taking a quick sip, he went to the door to answer it. In front of him stood a young man, roughly around his age. Blonde, quite slim, and a huge silly cross in his hair. Now that just looked ridiculous. "Mads Jensen?" the guy asked, reading up from a small, teared paper.

For a moment he didn't know who he was talking about. Oh. Right. His name. His father thought it might've been a good idea to start over. He had an uncommon last name, and there were a few hunters active in Copenhagen who most likely knew his mother. And his father had wanted him to get out of the whole business. He nodded. "Yeah, that's me," he confirmed, and stepped aside. "You can come in, if you want." The stranger got in, stood still on the doormat, glanced silently at the cup of coffee he was holding, and then bent over to remove his shoes.

"Do you want some?"

He shook his head. "No, thanks. I only drink real coffee." He offered his hand. "Erik."

Mads shook his hand in a cheerful manner and smiled at the newcomer. "Well, do you want to see the apartment?"

"I believe that's what I'm here for," Erik answered, dryly. A hint of a smirk could be seen if you looked closely, but it was easily missed by those who didn't know him well. The Dane took the lead and stepped forward, opening the door to the living room. He had tidied up a little, and it was completely clean, apart from the several papers scattered on the coffee table, and the radio he had left on. "This is the living room, as you can see, and behind the table there you can see the kitchen. It's a bit small, but it works. I only moved in here a week ago myself, so some things are missing," Mads apologised.

"Then, there's another door to the hall, and well, that's my bedroom. And this – " he opened yet another door and searched with his hands for the light switch, " – is the spare. Three by three. It's not that big, but seeing as there's a separate kitchen, living room and bathroom, right there, it's alright enough."

"I like it," Erik commented. "It's probably the best I can get."

He lit up. "Really? That's great. So do you want to move in?"

The man nodded. "Yeah. Give it a few days, some of my stuff is still on the boat."

The boat? Where did he come from? Mads shook his head; there were more important questions to be asked right now. He gestured towards the living room. "So, about some technical details..."

Erik, as he learnt, was Norwegian. He absolutely loved coffee and had brought his own coffee maker, which saved them the trouble of buying one. He had a subtle, dark sense of humour and could be a cynical and sarcastic person, but he didn't mind. Many nights were spent in front of the old, second hand television, the two of them bashing the detective series they watched, picking out every little thing that was wrong and inaccurate. Erik, as he learnt, did a study in criminology, and psychology. Apparently the Norwegian government greatly encouraged their adolescents to study abroad, even going so far as giving them money sometimes. The two grew close to each other.

However, Erik wasn't stupid, and after a few months he noticed how his roommate and friend would be gone for the evenings without a reason or an explanation. And when he came back, he looked tired, as if he hadn't slept at all, or got into a fight. When he asked, Mads told him he had joined a study group to keep up his grades, or else he'd fail his classes. But Erik had seen his grades. And they were completely fine. He also noticed how slowly but surely, Mads turned into himself. Became quieter and quieter. Time wasn't spent in front of the television, together, but each in their separate rooms. Around february, the Norwegian had enough of it and knocked on the door.

"I'm coming in," he said, not even waiting for an answer.

Mads had wanted to protest, but Erik already stood in his room. He shifted his position a little to block out the belongings on his desk from his view, but the man had already seen it. His expression didn't change, but he came closer, and picked up a long, broad, sharp knife. Mads did nothing.

"There's something highly unsettling about my roommate keeping knives on his desk," Erik started, carefully running a finger over the edge to see if it was sharp. It drew blood, and he wiped his finger off to his jeans, placing the knife back. He took one glance at the laptop screen and sighed. "What are you hiding? Talk to me."

It was silent for a long time, but Erik continued to stare at him and after ten minutes he couldn't take it any longer. "I can't," he finally said.

"Is this about your mother?"

Of course. The guy studied psychology. He had heard the stories about psychology students, who started analysing everything around them, seeing mental problems everywhere. But in this case... he'd been right. In a way, it was about his mother. Erik knew about her; of course he did. After living with each other for half a year the conversation would undoubtly have led to the topic of parents. He had told him everything, safe for the whole spirits and hunters part.

He nodded. "God, I can't go on with this," he then said, in a sudden outburst, kicking his shoes out and flinging them across the room. "I can't pretend everything's fine while things are out there killing people."

Erik frowned. "I don't understand."

He took a deep breath. "The things who killed my mother aren't human. The world's swarming with them. And I'm here, pretending they don't exist and they're not murdering people one by one as we're speaking right now." He spun around in his desk chair, not wanting to face his friend any longer. "And I've been lying to you since day one."

"Mads – "

"No. That's not my name. I quit."

Erik had tried to be reasonable, but his patience was wearing thin and he still didn't fully understand why the man was getting so riled up. Sure, there had been something off, but he hadn't expected all of this... he wasn't a stranger to the concept of spirits himself, seeing as his own father told him plenty of stories about ghosts and spirits when he was a child, but... his friend genuinely believed his mother got killed by one.

"Are you really going to chase a myth? It's madness." He grabbed the back of the chair and forcefully turned it so that he could see the Dane in the eye.

"Yes. Yes, I am. I should've done so way sooner."

Erik backed off. There was no point in trying to talk sense in a person who had his mind set on something utterly irrational. "So that's it? You're just going to leave in a whim of the moment as soon as I find out about all of this?" he snapped, angrily.

"It's not a whim."

"And here I thought we were friends. But that was just pretend. Nice." The fire in the Norwegian's eyes seemed to die out, and he slowly walked towards the door. "To me it looks like you're running away from your problems, instead of acknowledging them. Normal people would seek for help. Go on your hunt and avenge your mother. See if I care." He left.

The Dane got up from his chair. "I'm sorry," he called after him. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I guess … fucking up is kinda my thing."

Erik didn't turn around.

xxx

"Hey. _Hey_." Willem was trying to get his attention. The man had been day dreaming and let his cigarette burn up. That was odd behaviour. What was up with him today? He was not acting like himself. He jabbed the man in the ribs, which finally seemed to get a reaction out of him. He got a nasty glare back. At least it was something.

"You're a real hypocrite, you know that?" he then continued. "First you say I shouldn't get so worked up about the whole Dufort guy who was watching me and then you're the one pointing a gun to his head."

"Willem – "

"You said it yourself earlier today, him being part of the crew, and then you think... well, I don't know what you thought, but you overreacted. You were ready to blow his brains out. And then this message, and you don't even think to ask – "

"Willem, shut your mouth." A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he found the older man staring darkly at him. Laurids was either tired or angry, he wasn't sure which, but he did shut up, not wanting to mess with Laurids when he was in such a mood.

"Stop being so goddamned selfish. You're not the only one who has problems. Understood?"

He nodded, although he was annoyed at his partner's behaviour. The feeling was probably mutual, he realised. "Fine." He offered Laurids a cigarette in silence, which he took and lit. This time it was a peaceful silence, as they both looked out over the almost empty parking lots. Green trees were slowly losing their summery colour as leaves turned into yellows, reds and several shade of browns. And yet, the sun was warm enough. It was still september.

"Did you learn anything new?" Willem finally broke the silence, trying to steer the conversation to a somewhat safe subject.

"From my visit? Those two guys are innocent, I tell you that. There was something interesting, though. Both women practised yoga. And not for very long, either."

From the folder he had been waving earlier this day. Of course. It could be a coincidence, but it could very well be a connection, too. A lead, at least. "We'll have to check that out. I wouldn't mind. Hot young moms in nineties outfits and legwarmers and their long hair in a ponytail." He saw the mask of Laurids cracking and out came a little smile. Good. He got bumped against his shoulder.

"Yeah, sure. You'd like the view."

"And you don't?"

Laurids made a face. "They'd be all sweaty and sticky. I pass."

"You don't know anything about yoga, do you," Willem answered, glancing at him while he exstinguished his cigarette with his shoes.

"This implies that you're an expert."

Laurids was now grinning at him, a little smug. He shrugged his shoulders. At least the guy was back to normal; which was must preferred to the tense Danish man ten minutes ago. There was a lot about him he didn't know, and he didn't have to. But it shouldn't be getting in the way of the job. Then again, neither should his own problems. It had been devastating to hear at the time, but an hour or two had passed. Nothing had changed much. They had always been careful near the Dutch border, and since he'd hid in Luxembourg, he never once went back to his own country. It was not the end of the world. He slapped Laurids on the back, gently. "Come on. We've got a couple phone calls to make."

As he said that, he remembered his phone buzzing when he practically stomped out of the building earlier in the afternoon and fished it out of his pocket. No new voicemails. It hadn't been that important, then. Still, he went through the list of missed calls, seeing who had tried to contact him.

Unknown. Willem frowned at the letters, and looked again, to see if there was a phone number he could trace... but no. Of course not. Private number. It was his personal cellphone, too. An incredibly old thing, which he used to keep in contact with family, friends. Colleagues, if you could call them that. No outsider could've gotten the number. With an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach he put it away. Surely it was nothing.


End file.
